Birdcage
by weskerscoffee
Summary: This fic takes place after Joffrey is betrothed to Margaery. In this story, Sandor did not leave after the Battle of the Blackwater. He stayed to look after his little bird (SanSan).
1. Royal Ball

(This fic takes place after Joffrey is to be wed to Margaery. In this story, Sandor did not leave after the Battle of the Blackwater.)

….

Despite her red stained eyes, Sansa was easily the most beautiful girl at the ball. The spectacular event was held to ease the tension after the battle of the Blackwater, as well as to celebrate His Grace's betrothal to Lady Margaery. However, Joffrey wasted little time to make a toast to the fall of The King of the North. Those cold eyes looked through Sansa as his cruel words were spoken with a taunting grin. As if the girl hadn't suffered enough, she had just learned of the news only three days prior.

His Grace went on with his mockery, "I'm sure you all heard the stories about how Robb Stark could transform into a wolf on the battlefield. Well, I heard that after beheading him, the Frey's men sewed Robb's dire wolf's head to his body." He laughed. "To the Frey's!" The King held up his golden goblet, and everyone followed suit. "To the Frey's!" they echoed.

Joffrey watched to make sure that Sansa raised her own cup and toasted to her brother's death. Once she did, he was momentarily satisfied and his attention shifted elsewhere.

Sansa silently cursed the gods, both the old and new. Once, she would have dreamed and even prayed to attend the wonderful splendor of a royal ball. She would have spent hours imagining what she'd wear, how she'd fix her hair, and dancing with her Prince. No longer did she believe in such naive tales.

The man she feared, yet admired, had been right. There were no gods, no heroes, nor gallant knights. They were all just a bunch of killers.

Instead of joining in with the festivities, Sansa sat alone at one of the many empty tables as the others danced, conversed, and drank themselves senseless. She would notice the high born girls snickering about her from afar. In all honesty, she did not hold it against the young girls, for she could see her old self in them. Little did they know of the world's cruelty, and perhaps it was better to live that way.

For a moment, she got lost in her own thoughts about how things used to be… She thought of home and about how she hadn't appreciated it. The very idea was enough to bring tears to her eyes, but she had to fight them back. Now that she knew the truth, she needed to learn how to be strong. She had never been strong, not like her sister and two older brothers.

"Drink."

The sudden command snapped her out of her trance, but her light glazed eyes looked ahead. She need not look upon his scarred face to know that the voice which spoke to her was that of The Hound.

"I don't like the taste." Her voice was nearly a whisper.

"Drink..." This time his demand was more stern and frightening. It was followed by him slamming down his own cup. The crimson liquid splashed to stain the white tablecloth.

Those crystal eyes watched as the dark red liquid absorbed into the pure cloth. The very sight made her brows pull together. Once again, her eyes quaked as she thought of her family.

Seeing her somber expression made him sigh. "Come, girl, drink up… It's going to be a long night." This time, his tone seemed gentle.

After chugging her own glass, Sansa grabbed and sloshed his down as well. She knew it wasn't right for him to be indulging while on duty, but no one would dare say a word to him. Her hand quickly lifted to her lips for she nearly gagged at the pungent flavor. Something about sharing a cup was oddly intimate. After all, her lips had been where his were only moments before. The strange sensation reminded her of the tender moment they shared the night of the Blackwater Bay battle.

Sandor chuckled. "Easy, little bird. It wouldn't be proper for me to have to carry you back to your cage. Now, that wasn't so bad was it?"

At last, her eyes met with his. No longer did she fear meeting his gaze. In fact, she had come to enjoy denying him the satisfaction of having rattled her. "Behind the bitterness, it's a bit sweet. Reminds me of someone I know. And like I said, I don't like the taste." Her words snapped back at him.

His blank expression gave nothing away. "It's an acquired taste. Perhaps over time, you will learn to enjoy it." His lips expelled with a smirk. With that said, he grasped his cup and wandered away before anyone noticed that he was hovering over the Lady Sansa.

…

The night had indeed dragged on. Most of his time was spent standing around, watching The King make a fool of himself. _Fucking little cunt._

It was true. He had damned The King on the night of The Battle of Blackwater Bay. Sandor could give a shit about his duty. Yet, like a good dog, he still followed orders. Why? He did not fully understand himself. Perhaps, it was because of… _Her._ Sandor had spent most of the night leering at the young girl with scarlet hair as if he hoped she'd catch him doing so. Yet, he never caught her looking back at him. _Of course, she wouldn't._

He pressed his lips against his cup, the same spot where hers had been, while he admired the way her hair was pulled back out of her face. He did not know it was the southern style nor did he care. He just liked gawking at the untouched porcelain skin of her neck. His dark eyes followed the V-shaped cut of her dress down to her chest, until the site was broken by Joffrey's intrusion.

Joffrey's words to Sansa were unheard, but they weren't hard to guess. Surely, he was taunting her... threatening to soon have his way with her. _The little shit._ Sandor had offered her a way out, an escape, but she had turned him down.

Had she known that the game would have swayed in Joffrey's favor, would she have turned his offer down then? He would always wonder. Either way, his offer still stood. However, if he asked her again and she dared to refuse, then he would just take her for his own. Surely, she could not be punished for being abducted by a stray dog. At least with him, she wouldn't be beaten, raped, or worse… Of course, other than her freedom, he had nothing to offer her. He could not give her the proper life that a fine lady deserved.

"Dog!"

Before heading over to his "King," he took a moment to study him. He thought of all the different ways he could carve his sword into his body…all the parts he could hack away. When he met Joffrey's stare, he imagined how his bare hands could easily crush his pretty little face. _The little shit will get his soon enough. No need to send me to the noose just yet…_

Soon he was over there, standing with Lady Sansa and His Grace. "My lady has not had a dance partner all evening. I would like for you to do her the honor."

 _Fuck! Fuck! Fucker! The dagger would do... right into his cunt mouth. Choking on his own blood would shut him up. "_ Perhaps a true Ser would be a better partner, Your Grace. I'm afraid a stray dog has no other skills than killing." _She'd like that. Dancing with one of those honorable knights that she loves so much. Stupid girl._ Sandor did not wish to be a pawn in Joffrey's little game. His intentions were clear, to force the beautiful girl to dance with the hideous beast. What better way to bring her shame? Sansa would be the talk of all the high born girls come morning. _The pricks, all of them._

"You will do as your King commands, dog!" Joffrey roughly jerked Sansa's arm and pushed her against Sandor. "Now dance…" He barked with an awful kind of scowl.

Sandor led her away from King Joffrey and found a dark corner on the dance floor. "Slimy piece of fuck…" He mumbled under his breath. "Don't think this gives me pleasure, girl… If I had it my way than I'd be drinking myself to sleep right now. Not wasting my time fluttering around with a little bird... Besides, I don't even know how." He admitted since he had never once danced with a woman or even known a woman intimately… besides fucking. But fucking did not count as intimate. At least, not the way that he did it. His hand was set awkwardly on her arm, and the other loosely grasped her hand.

"I wouldn't dare think that a man like you would even know the meaning of the word pleasure. All you seem to know is how to find the bottom of a bottle." She bit back at him as she grabbed and placed one of his hand at her waist. Her fingers tangled around the rough calluses of his free hand. Sansa slowly smoothed her other small shaky hand up the full length of his muscular arm until it rested just below his shoulder.

"Aye, but I also know how to kill a man... or woman, and that gives me pleasure." He sneered. Just then, he looked down at her as if seeing her first the first time. Feeling the warm friction of her body made him realize just how fragile his little bird was. Small enough for a hound to crush, that was for sure. "Now what? Let's get this over with…"

"Now you just sway from side to side." She muttered.

Sandor did just that. For such a good swordsman, his footing was clumsy, but at least he didn't step on her feet. Just as the music was nearing an end, he pulled her closer to him. His strong wide hand clenched hard at her waist and forced her to gasp. No doubt his grasp would leave a bruise, and he wanted to mark her... to claim her as his own. He would mark that pretty little neck if she wouldn't lose her head for it. But alas, the music did end and she was not his to handle anymore. He doubted he would ever get the chance to touch her like that again. So, for just a moment longer he held her hand and gazed down into her eyes.

Her heart was beating fast. Her head was spinning, and cheeks were flushed. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or… "Ser?" Her eyes searched about, and it appeared that The King had already taken his leave. "Would you see me back to my chamber?"

"Aye, I'll see you back to your cage, little bird." He had felt her rapid pulse and noticed the new warmth that pulled at her cheeks. _She must have had more drinks than I managed to keep up with._ Sandor did not believe he could have that kind of affect on her. "But I am no Ser." He reminded her.

-To be continued-


	2. Godswood

(Thanks for all the kind words for chapter one! It really encouraged me. I have a lot more written but felt it should be broken up into two chapters. SO, hopefully, I will have chapter 3 out in the next couple of days. I hope you enjoy! ^_^ )

The loud clatter of metal against metal filled the silence of the empty walkway. Despite its weight, the heavy bulk of armor did not weigh him down. Rather, it had become apart of him. On the outside, the suit was just another appendage. However, it was also worn to hide some sort of inner truth. Similar to the scarred mask that he wore on part of his face, Sandor's metal suit made him appear even more ruthless and terrifying. Many could not bear to look directly into his cold dark eyes. For they did not see a man at all, but only a beast...a killer. And they were right. At least, that is what he told himself.

The girl with the scarlet hair was the only exception. She had seen through his persona on more than one occasion. Sure, she feared the man, but that night she had not just looked upon him... but had really seen him.

The very idea gave him mixed feelings, and feelings were something he did not handle very well. A small part of him liked being seen by her, while the rest of him felt conflicted. The only way he knew to respond was with anger.

If she dared stand up to him again, he would put her back in line. He had to. It was his unspoke duty, and not one given by those who thought themselves better. A burden he had tasked himself with many moons ago. It was the only way to keep her safe. Especially since Joffrey was now betrothed to another. Sansa was in more danger now than ever before.

It was becoming clear that she would be the end of him. _Just my luck, being done in by a woman._ He snarled as he walked down the steep stone steps with Lady Sansa. _Not even a woman... but a little bird._

Sandor could keep a better eye on Sansa if he followed a few steps behind. Her crimson hair nearly glowed under the moonlight. Long locks extended down to the small of her back. From behind, he had a good view of her now fully developed curves. She was a true woman in the physical sense. She was rather tall, but still small enough for him to tower over.

His leering eyes watched the way her rounded hips swayed from side to side beneath that tight gown. Before long, he felt a soft breeze on the unburnt side of his face. The sensation broke his gaze and his eyes glanced elsewhere. The shimmer of the moon was now blocked by small trees that were only a few feet taller than Sandor himself. _What in seven hells._

Sansa had led him into the Godswood, which was quite far from her chambers.

A low growl escaped him and his feet came to a sudden halt. "Girl…" He muttered out, but she did not respond.

"Girl!" This time his voice was much louder and more threatening.

Yet, despite having heard him, Sansa continued on down the stone pathway.

Rage engulf him. He charged towards her and grasped her shoulder to force her to turn to him. "Are you drunk, girl? Is that it? A few drinks… is that what makes you brave? Or should I say, stupid?"

Both his strong hands grasped each side of her shoulders. Those rough fingertips dug into her skin as his grip tightened around her.

Sansa let out a soft cry. "Stop, you're hurting me..." Now she was afraid...too afraid to look him in the eyes this time.

One of his hands let loose long enough for him to brush back the straggly strands of hair that partially hid his scarred face. "Look at me…" He demanded. When her eyes didn't meet him, his voice howled, "look at me!" Finally, her light somber eyes slowly gazed up.

"Did you come here to pray, girl?" He mocked with a smirk. "Tell me, where were your gods when they butchered your family like cattle? Do you think that they will stop Joffrey from raping you?" Those thick brows pulled together as he looked deep within her. "He will have you…soon I bet. Slip into your chamber in the middle of the night…"

With every word spoken, his voice became a bit harsher. It was as if his thoughts were the actual cause for his rage. "But he is a fucking cunt. So, I wouldn't be surprised if he had his men do it for him…"

He paused to take a moment to look her over. "Or perhaps, he'll put a bastard in you…" Rough fingertips trailed down her arm and traced a line just below her navel. "Just so he can carve it out of your swollen belly. Do you think your fancy dress with all its elegant stitchings will serve as armor from his blade?" He could have gone on with his cruel words, but her solemn expression made him cease his verbal assault.

"I didn't come here to pray… and I don't care what Joffrey does to me. Nothing could be worse than what he has already…" Sansa began to mutter softly before she once again looked to the ground.

Before she could finish, his large hand grasped her by the chin. Not only did he force her to look up at him, but he lowered his lips near hers. "Have you not been listening? There are plenty of ways for him to hurt you, little bird. You think he'd give you a quick death?"

He shook his head.

"No. You would feel the things that he did inside of you for weeks… assuming that the pain would ever fade... Either way, you'd feel it here." His hand glided down from her chin, past her neck, and stopped at her chest.

Her heart fluttered.

"Ah, do I frighten you so much that it makes your heart pound?"

He snarled again. "Look at my face. Whenever I see a flame, I can still feel a phantom pain of my flesh burning. A twinge on my cheek..."

He sighed. "I won't let that happen to you... If he tries to hurt you, then I'll cut off his little prick and split him in two."

Sansa's mouth fell open as she let out a hard breath. She thought he meant to kiss her. Those innocent eyes could not help but peek down at his lips. It was not the first time that she had thought of them, nor would it be the last.

On the night when green flames lit the dark sea, he had only left her with a bloody cloak... not with a kiss. A kiss that she had told herself was unwanted. She lied. Sansa thought about their intimate encounter every time she passed the massive man in the hallway.

Perhaps, she had imagined that their kiss had actually happened to make sense of whatever transpired between them. After all, he had chosen to flee to her bedroom chamber. But why?

Moments passed as she thought about it, and she felt her body lean in a bit closer.

Sandor noticed the static between their lips and calmed a bit. He released her and gently urged her forward. "Go on now… Get on with it… before you get us both killed." He followed behind her for a while longer until they reached a break in the trees.

The moonshine consumed her dark silhouette as she stood near the sea. A cool breeze blew at her fiery colored hair and reflected softly into her bright eyes.

Her beauty was either his salvation or his curse. He was not sure. Though the air was fresh, Sandor felt he couldn't breathe.


	3. Dreams

As the night carried on, no more words were spoken between them. Sandor had allowed Sansa to look out upon the star lit sea of Blackwater Rush. The taste of salt was in the wet air, as well as the fresh scent of earth.

 _For once it doesn't smell of pig shit._ Once the moon had risen to its highest point, Sandor motioned for her to follow him back. This time, she did as he bid.

After taking a few steps forward, she slowly looked back at the ebony sky that inhabited countless specks of shimmering lights. Sansa had once prayed here within the bounds of lush greenery. Some time ago, she had prayed about her betrothal to Joffrey. Other times, she had asked the gods to have mercy on her father...and to see that her elder brother may be triumphant in the war. She had even prayed for Sandor Clegane.

Her eyes darted forward with a gasp. Again, his strong hand had her within his grasp. This time, it clenched tight around her wrist and pulled her along. She could no longer look back.

…

Sandor wanted to scold her again...to tell her of the danger she had put him in. At some point, he had considered throwing her over his shoulder and taking her back to her cage.

 _Doesn't she know what happens to men that are caught out alone with stupid little girls?_ He huffed just as they arrived at her chamber-door.

Her eyes peeked up to see his grimace. She knew he must have been angry with her. So, she swallowed hard before she spoke, "thank you, Ser."

 _Again with the Sers._ His thick arms were folded tight against his armored chest, while those dark eyes looked through her, and he said nothing. Yet, the expression on his face seemed to soften when he nodded.

Sandor watched as the little bird fluttered back into her cage. A heavy sigh escaped him. Now all he needed was an entire barrel of wine.

…

The sound of the door shutting from behind nearly made her jump. Sansa had not taken the Hound's words lightly. He was right. Joffrey would soon come for her.

The light from the moon peeked in through her window. It served to aid her vision so she could prepare for bed. Her long slender fingers slowly unbuttoned her gown. Her movements paused at the last fastened button as she recalled his words, "Do you think your fancy dress with all its elegant stitchings will serve as armor from his blade?" The thought made her tremble, and she suddenly felt alone.

Desperately, she tried to push thoughts like that out of her mind. With haste, she began to put her dress back in its wardrobe. The sooner she did… the sooner she could hide under the comforts of her blankets. No, a quilt could not protect her any better than a dress. Frantic now, she had collapsed onto the floor. Her hands carelessly tossed neatly folded silks out of a chest as she dug through it.

At last, she found the treasure she sought. The white blood stained cloak would serve as a much better shield. Just as she bundled herself within it, she noticed a shadow under the door. Sandor was still out there.

Her eyes welled up when she realized that he had stayed to guard her chamber-door. She took to her feet and quietly walked over to it. His cloak dragged behind her for it was much too long for her height. Gently, she pressed her body against the barrier that separated them and let her hand slowly slide down the rough wooden grain.

She knew he could not stay there all night. It would be best to try and sleep while she had a bit of relief.

...

The feeling of the soft luxurious feathered blankets brought her little comfort. Though her somber eyes could see very little in the pitch black room, they laid awake. For when she closed them, all she could imagine was the color red. The cool air made her eyes feel dry and forced her to blink, while the thought of death weighed heavily on her.

The burden of her thoughts made her feel as though she couldn't breathe. Her chest felt a sort of sharp pain in it. The ache was either from the stress of fear or that of heartbreak. Perhaps, it was both. There were no sounds of sobbing, but the stream of tears ran down her face all the same. The shadow beneath the door was all that kept her calm. Motionless, she laid, until her restless mind gave in to exhaustion.

….

Within her dreams, she fared no better. Even more vividly, she saw the blood that streamed down her mother's neck and the bare bone of her spine. Though Sansa was not but an apparition, her silent scream rung through her ears. Those innocent eyes looked on as her mother's body was carelessly thrown into the river. The water's dark blue hue was tainted with blood. The crimson water soon began to overflow and stain the white hymn of her dress. It would continue to rise. Soon she would drown in it.

Her attention was pulled from the pool of blood by the sound of a horse galloping towards her from behind. Quickly, she turned and saw a vision a Robb riding towards her with the sun at his back. For a moment, she rejoiced. He was here to save her from her inevitable doom.

As he came nearer, his head transformed into that of a beast. Again, she cried out. Sansa wanted to run, but her body could not move, for it was incapacitated by slumber in another realm. The horse meant to mow her down. Just before she was crushed, Sansa's eyes darted open with a heavy breath.

…...

That soft cushion, which her head had been resting, was stained with tears. Her chest moved rapidly with each breath of air she tried to gasp. Light crystal eyes quacked, but before she could allow herself to mourn, fear struck her. She was not alone. The feeling of another's presence caused her eyes to warily searched about the room.

Sansa wanted to scream for help. Her mouth fell open, but out came no sound. It mattered not. No one would come to her rescue. No one, except... _Clegane._ Her attention snapped to her door. The hallway light was dim, but his shadow no longer lingered.

The unknown intruder said nothing and just sat beside her silently in the dark. Their body was heavy and left a deep hollow in the mattress. The hazy silhouette was that of a larger man. That fact, washed her worry away since that meant it was not Joffrey. However, it could still be a member of his King's Guard. Her mind raced through all the possibilities, and she trembled with fear.

Before long, she felt the intruder's hand gently stroke her auburn hair. For whatever reason, the feeling set her mind at ease. Just then, she slid her hand up, what felt like, cold metal armor before grasping the man's rough cheek. Her soft finger-tips traced the craters of his face. "San-dor Clegane?" It was more of a question to herself. Who else could this be?

She leaned up just enough for her lips to brush against his. She could feel his warm breath against her mouth and the coarse hairs of his beard on her chin. Sansa could almost taste the trace of wine that lingered on his lips.

Silent moments passed as she hovered over his lips. Her forehead warmly nuzzled against his while she breathed in his rough groan. With that, she eased forward into a slow gentle kiss.

When their lips parted, the man nearly crushed her with his tight embrace.

A soft smile pulled across her flushed cheeks. She hadn't felt another's touch in so long. His grasp was warm and protective similar to her father's. Her father was most likely the last to have held her, but she had told him that she was too old to be cuddled.

Before long, he eased her back down against her cushion. The feeling of his lips upon her forehead forced her to close her weary eyes.

Just as soon as she had risen, she was back asleep. This time, her dreams were not plagued by ghosts. Instead, she was back home, at Winterfell, being guarded by a stray dog.

….

To be continued…

(Thanks for reading! The next chapter will mostly be through the Hound's POV. )


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